


The Other One

by HaniWhoLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniWhoLock/pseuds/HaniWhoLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft said that there was another Holmes sibling.<br/>What if the sibling was someone that Sherlock already met? And what if, Sherlock...isn't really Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Mycroft said "imagine what happened to the other"  
So, what if, Sherlock isn't actually Sherlock.  
He's adopted. And the real Sherlock ran away or something many years before.  
So Mr & Mrs Holmes were so devastated that they adopted and renamed the kid to Sherlock. They taught him how to deduce, and everything else that he knows.  
But... where is the real Sherlock now?  
  
  
  
Moriarty. Moriarty is the real Sherlock Holmes.  
"You and I, we're alike." More than they will ever know.


	2. Having issues, Sherly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets locked out of his mind palace

It was a normal day in 221 B Baker Street. John was typing away at his blog, and Sherlock was laying on the couch in his mind palace.   
There had been no cases for the past two weeks, that were remotely interesting. This left Sherlock bored and cranky...which resulted in John getting annoyed and sleep deprived.   
Standing up and stretching, John let out a sigh. He knew that Sherlock was not paying any attention to him, however he figured that he would still say something.   
"I'm going to go and get more milk. We're almost out," he said as he grabbed his coat. As predicted, Sherlock said nothing, as if he didn't hear John.   
Suddenly, as if someone closed the doors to his mind-palace, Sherlock woke up, his head and heart pounding. This had never happened before. Not even when he was in a "good mood".   
Standing up, Sherlock tried to figure out what happened. However, without his mind palace, that was a little difficult.   
"Having issues, Sherly?" A voice taunted.   
A voice that belonged to, none other than James Moriarty.   
The only issue is that Sherlock couldn't figure out if this was said in his mind or in real life.   
"Oh I'm real, Sherly. Oh so real," the killers voice whispered.   
"But you're not"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, comments, concerns?


	3. Sherlock Holmes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...the truth comes out, doesn't it, Mycroft?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting. I have had writers block...and I have been doing a lot of things.

When John came back from the store, the flat was in ruins. Everything was everywhere. Nothing was the way it was before, especially Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting in the corner curled up, shaking.  
"Sherlock?!" John asked in a worried tone. "Sherlock what is wrong, talk to me!" He said. However, Sherlock refused to answer him. This went on for hours.   
It got to the point where John called Mycroft.   
"He might listen to you," John muttered when he walked in the flat.  
"Good heavens, Sherlock. What is this tantrum for? Did you loose another pack of smokes?" The older Holmes brother asked in a taunting tone. This, however, only caused Sherlock to growl.   
He stood up and walked up to Mycroft.   
"Look at you, Brother," he said, sneering the last word, as if it was poison. "All authoritative and high up in the government."  
"And then there is me," Sherlock muttered and took a step away from his brother. "The person who can figure out everything about anyone in five seconds," he said and pulled at his curly hair.  
"AND YET, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM!" He screamed, turning around, his eyes wide and bloodshot.   
"Because you see, I KNOW NOW!" he yelled.  
"Oh? You know? And what do you know, Sherlock?!" Mycroft asked, leaning on his umbrella. There was something within him that knew what Sherlock was talking about. However, the older Holmes refused to believe that this was true. There was no way that Sherlock could have figured out this secret. Both of his parents, and himself, kept this secret well hidden. Plus, there was no one who knew about it.   
"I know that I am not real...I am not Sherlock!" The detective cried out.   
"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" John asked, trying to laugh. He couldn't believe what he was hearing something like this. It was just...unreal.  
Sherlock walked around, shaking. As he did, Mycroft continued to watch him. After a bit...he sighed. What was the point to ignore the fact that Sherlock knew? The only question is...how?  
"You're right, Sherlock. You aren't actually Sherlock. You're not my real brother. But that doesn't mean that i don't worry about you any less. You're still the annoying twit I grew up with," he said and chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. Yet, it did nothing. Sherlock was just standing there, as if he was just shot.  
Without saying anything, he went to his room. It took him a grand total of 90 seconds to get dressed. His tears were dry, yet he was still shaking a bit. Walking out of the room, he grabbed his scarf and his coat, marching out of the flat once he was done.   
The door slammed behind him, causing Mycroft, John and Mrs. Hudson to jump.   
"Oh dear," Mycroft muttered and then looked at John. However, he was met with a pained look. "Some brother you are," he said and went to go make tea. The three people left in 221 B knew that if Sherlock didn't want to be found...then he would not be found.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was sitting on the top of Big Ben. God knows how he got there. He didn't even remember. The last thing that he remembered was his "brother" telling him that he wasn't who he thought he was.   
He brought the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.   
"No need to hide," he muttered, smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he spoke.   
"Awh, you ruined the fun!" a voice said as a man walked out of the shadows. His hands brushed over his suit and he sighed. "I told you that we were more alike than what you thought, Sherlock. Yet, you refused to listen."   
Moriarty walked up and sat next to Sherlock with a grin.   
"Sherlock Holmes, Hi!"


	4. Switching Roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out who he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might get a little confusing because things are going to be switching.   
> So that means that Sherlock will be Jim (as in Andrew Scott from the show) and Jim is Sherlock (as in Benedict from the show).

Sherlock shivered when Jim said this. "This is going to be a strain on my brain," he muttered and took another drag from the cigarette and then offered it to Jim.   
James just grinned and took it, taking a nice long drag, the end lighting up as he did.   
"Doesn't it make you wonder who you really were?" the killer said, breathing out the smoke as he did. With a grin, he took out some papers and handed them to Sherlock.  
As he read over it, his eyes went a wide. "Very funny, James," he said.   
"Please, call me Sherlock," he said with a tut.   
"Look at us. Well, look at you. Not knowing who you really are, James," he said, sneering.   
Sherlock gripped his head, all of this becoming too much.   
"So you are saying that I am you...and you are me? I don't..." Sherlock didn't want to say that he didn't understand, that would only give satisfaction to Jim...Sherlock?   
Jim stood. "Let's just start calling each other by the correct name...Jim," he said and grinned.   
Dusting off his suit, Sherlock chuckled. "You know where to find me if you need me, " he purred and then left. 

"Jim...I'm Jim? My name is...James Moriarty?" he said and walked around where he was. The wind was piercing his skin, but the blue eyed man didn't pay attention to it.   
This is when the anger came. He didn't know what to do. Everything was so wrong...too wrong...

It was then that he found himself standing in front of a luxurious door. Not even knowing how he got there, however he knew where he was. Jim sighed deeply and lifted his hand, knocking on the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim texts John and starts to take on Sherlock.   
> (again, roles are reversed xD)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, Comments, Concerns?

The door opened. Although Sherlock...er-Jim...was expecting Ji-Sherlock to answer, it was Sebastian Moran. As soon as the marksman saw who it was, he reached for his concealed weapon.   
The detective...wait. Was he even a detective anymore? Anyways, he walked in and rolled his eyes.  
"Don't even try, Moran," he muttered as he walked by. "No matter how good you are, i could have easily disarmed and killed you, by now," he said, rolling his eyes and untying his scarf. As he said this, he could almost feel Ji-er-Sherlock's eyes on him and the grin forming.  
As he walked into this house, he felt like he was betraying his brother...no. Mycroft was not his brother. but John...he was basically betraying John...  
-  
Don't wait up.

-SH

-

Sh-Jim almost set this message. However, right at the last second, he changed it.  
-  
To: John Watson

Don't wait up.

-JM

-

It was then that he felt a hand on his arm.   
"I see that you have come to terms with this. Now, down to-" the killer started, however, Jim cut him off. "No. I am going to have a drink. Or twenty," he said and walked past the killer.   
If he was the real Moriarty, he might as well start acting like him, because nothing else will do, and he refused to do anything half ass.   
The blue eyed man made his way to the kitchen and poured himself some scotch. Glaring at Sherlock, he downed the glass in one drink, the buzz almost immediatly hitting him, as his throat began to burn.   
There was a scowl on Sherlock's face as he did this, not liking the fact that he was drinking his expensive alcohol, especially after talking to him the way that he did. Sherlock walked up to Jim, as he poured another glass.   
"Is. This. REALLY. Necessary?" he growled. As he did, Moran put his hand on his gun once more, not knowing what might happen next.   
Jim just grinned and took another drink. "Depends," he muttered and finished the glass, his face turning slightly red from the alcohol. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

John was pacing in the flat when his phone buzzed. It was on the other side of the room, and he almost bolted to it, tripping over countless things as he did.   
When he got to his phone, he looked at it frantically, and then froze when he saw the message.   
-  
From: Sherlock Holmes

Don't wait up.

-JM

-  
John felt like his heart stopped and he tried to understand what this meant. It either meant that Sherlock was screwing with him, or that Moriarty had gotten him.   
Without a second thought, he texted Mycroft.   
-  
Just got this from Sherlock, explain?

"Don't wait up.

-JM"

-JW

-  
John paced around the flat, getting more and more worried as time went on. Although he felt like he shouldn't reply...he did.  
-  
Don't wait up, my arse. Give Sherlock back, Moriarty.

-JW

-  
He sent this and sat in his chair, the only thing that Sherlock did not destroy.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim was glaring at Sherlock, slowly drinking the scotch, when his phone beeped. He pulled out his phone, ignoring Sherlock with a grin.  
-  
From: John Watson  
Don't wait up, my arse. Give Sherlock back, Moriarty.

-JW

-

To: John Watson

John, i never was Sherlock. 

-JM

-  
He could almost feel John's anger and surprise.  
-  
From: John Watson.

Don't. Lie. To. Me.

-JW  
-  
To: John Watson. 

I am not lying. Now if you don't mind, i would prefer it if you would stop sulking and tell Mycroft to lay off and stop trying to track me. For i have something that i am doing.

-JM

-  
Maybe it was the alcohol that was making him say this, or maybe it was the fact that he just didn't care any more. Either way, Jim sent this and poured himself another glass. He wasn't finishing the bottle, however he wanted the killer to think that he was going to.   
For as he was doing this, he was planning everything out.


End file.
